“It’s just this way—” began poor Paddy.
“The real trouble,” put in Jack, “is that Patrick O’Grady doesn’t know whether he’s been selling pigs or, buying them, and Paddy doesn’t know whether she’s been buying pigs or selling them. For the last two hours they’ve been doing both in a sort of cycle, and now they’re left with fifteen on their hands, and we want a Solomon to say who they belong to,” and he exploded again.
“If you don’t shut up, Jack—I’ll—I’ll throw a pig at your head,” said Paddy furiously.
“And I offered to help you drive them home,” in an aggrieved voice.
“I’ll help instead,” volunteered Lawrence. “I’m a positive genius at pig-driving.”
“Or I could take them to The Ghan House on my way back,” said Patrick cheerfully.
“But they’re not mine, I tell you. I don’t want the things. What in the world could I do with fifteen pigs?”
“They certainly wouldn’t be very nice in your bedroom, and I don’t see where else you could hide them,” put in Jack.
“Come, what’s it all about?—don’t mind him,” as Paddy again looked furiously at her tormentor. “Perhaps I can help?”
Wherewith, turning her back on the delinquent, who continued to chuckle audibly, Paddy related the history of the fifteen pigs, and the Gordian knot she and Patrick had managed to tie between them.